


Not Looking for Help

by ashford2ashford



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Implied Relationships, M/M, Multiple Endings, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26364766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashford2ashford/pseuds/ashford2ashford
Summary: Edward Nygma isn't looking to be helped...but he'll get it one way or another.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Not Looking for Help

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a multiple endings affair. Each different branch will be given a chapter name (Chaper 2:1, chapter 2:2, etc).
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

He's not looking for help.

For once, the streets are in a state of restless calm, and the sirens that were once blaring in the air are now but a distant memory. Cocking your head to the side, eyes closed for a moment, you hear them fading into the distance. Once they finally do vanish the air itself seems dead. Silent.

Sure that the presence of the police is now but a distant memory within the minds of the citizens that live here, you start to slowly untangle your long limbs, and stretch up to your full impressive height atop the building. He can't see you (you're sure of that) for he is still breathing hard and you catch a glimpse of frantic wide eyes as the dull yellow glow of a street light frames his torso for a second. Anyone in Gotham could mistake this expression for fear, but you are the master of knowing when people have gone beyond that point, and Edward Nygma is definitely running entirely on adrenaline and raw animal instinct right now. 

As he runs below - fatigued, bloodied, sweating, panting, gasping - you keep a leisurely pace atop the city's buildings. It requires little effort to jump from roof to roof when Gotham seems so packed together that it is almost choking itself with how many structures have been built. You're far from an expert on the physical level of things, but you are very agile and nimble, having dabbled once or twice in martial arts. 

It helps to be healthy and athletic in your line of work. 

Below, Nygma hears the slam of a window being closed and he freezes; twitching, nervous, inhaling sharply. To him the eerie quiet must be almost deafening. Frantic, eyes still wide like a rabbit facing the teeth of a hunting dog, he glances around. 

Far from his usual methodical approach, he is blind in his panic, and easily misses the sight of your shadow over the city with the moonlight behind you. You're not exactly hiding either. Not in the slightest. 

People misunderstand so easily what it is you actually do. One does not gain the moniker of Master without years of careful study and analysis. Fear and terror are your realms of expertise. Teaching could only prepare you for the initial gut reactions to fear (the firing, the complaints, the crying, the cover ups) of a terrified school board and their terrified students. Psychology taught you the way the mind works, in what setting, in what time, in what place and who with. Psychiatry schooled you on the way the mind works when it is broken. All three easily bled into each other. 

The point is: you're prepared. 

You know exactly what Edward is feeling and the effect it is having on his body. When not in this state he is a professional: able to read a room and every face within it; able to plan and scheme with only seconds to spare; able to work out the best escape routes and where they may lead; able to articulate and explain and learn and read and think.

Now…

Well. 

He will not have seen you because his vision is blinded by the terror of pursuit. Edward Nygma may as well be likened to a cornered cat at the moment. Head snapping around once he is sure the danger has passed, letting out the breath he had been holding for these past few seconds, motions jerking and unnatural for him, he moves on with no thought to the fact that he is not the only villain within this city. 

In your waking and lucid state, without the presence of that sadistic side of you that calls itself Scarecrow, you would never get to study this reaction on Nygma's body. Now you can take mental note of the way his fingernails scratch at his palms as he looks around a corner for any sign of safety; see the way his lips tremble and quiver uncontrollably as he tries to regain his sense of self. Naturally he fails any effort to reign in his body's own efforts to keep him alive.

It seems like he covers miles (probably to him) but in actual fact he runs out of stamina very easily when he is almost choke-sobbing with the adrenaline rush. So far he is only able to dash across the roads, from alleyway to alleyway, once he has stopped to breathe and panic some more, and he's barely covered any distance because he keeps waiting and watching and twitching. Not only that, but you're sure he just did a loop on himself. 

Yes. He definitely did. For, upon seeing the same street sign that he had just passed only moments before, he pauses and his expression reflects the confusion his brain must be feeling in that moment. 

You cannot claim to know every detail to how Nygma's brain works, but you most definitely know that it is not functioning to the usual standard. He's staring, utterly dumbfounded, at that sign. His brain is telling him he's seen it before; his fear is making him doubt that.

This is the sort of moment you wish you could film. Watch it over and over in the comfort of your own lair. Make detailed notes on the way that this particular person reacts when ruled by his own body. Alas, you are more than aware that if you leave now to go and get a camera, he'll be gone by the time you get back.

Even if he is moving slowly and pausing every ten seconds.

It's a very strange situation for you.

For once, you're not trying to help or hinder him. 

There is an old saying that there is no honour amongst thieves, but here in Gotham there is somewhat of an order to the way various villains do things within the city limits. Every district has a lair of some kind or another. Many of those in the Rogue's Gallery have unwritten agreements or trade deals with each other. Certain rules or unspoken truces. To your knowledge, The Riddler does not have a cut of the city, but is quite akin to a cuckoo chick in the way he works. Building several nests within other villains' territory and enjoying all the benefits. 

Taking a moment to glance around, you make a mental note that Edward is far from his usual haunts and is actually now bordering Penguin's turf, and that one little thought causes your jaw to tighten ever so slightly. Not because Nygma is in any danger, but quite the opposite: Penguin and the Riddler have a very profitable and healthy working relationship. 

It's Nygma and Cobblepot's history that bothers you.

One very important detail that you could never help noticing is Edward's complete lack of a hideout in this part of the city. On paper, the Penguin can be very possessive about his land, and therefore it would make sense that this is the one place that the Prince of Puzzlers can never build upon, but you know that even the most official of papers can still be forged.

You've seen that glint in Cobblepot's one good eye whenever Edward flounces across his club floor. A slightly wider upturn of the mouth. Opening of fine champagne. Invitations of gourmet meals and a private room - right here, Edward, right in this very place where there's no need for you to have a base of your own because there will always be a warm spot for you right by the side of...

When quite sober, Nygma plays hard to get (for the most part), but even he falters in that act when fingers happen to touch around a glass. That beautiful flush across his cheeks and throat. Green eyes searching for something that even he cannot fully comprehend. Arrogant grinning teeth reduced to a smile that suggests there is something there in his mind that simply cannot be copied to paper. 

Once you saw it you wished you could claw out your own eyes.

In the state he's in now…well...you doubt that he would have sense enough to refuse anything Cobblepot asked of him.

Crossing the street, Edward staggers towards the rough area that his brain tells him the Iceberg Lounge is, and you find yourself faced with a decision.

You could observe him more (making a mental list of every little sign of fear that takes over his body, every bead of sweat or drop of blood or - ) or you could step in and offer this poor lost soul your assistance. 

Doing the former makes him suffer for that little second longer, but moves him further into a vulnerable position that Cobblepot would be more than happy to take advantage of; doing the latter would reveal that small concerned part of you which you've tried desperately to hide, but would also allow you to sew a few seeds of your own.

Perhaps making Edward reconsider his lack of a base in your own territory (you know there's a very different reason for that)?

Slowly, deliberately - with the moon shining high in the sky, shadows dancing across the ground, the sounds of city life fading in and out of existence with every turn of a corner - you stand. 

And then you move. 

**Author's Note:**

> Both decisions will be written, but if you wish to see one sooner rather than later, please feel free to comment! 
> 
> OPTIONS:  
> \- Jonathan intervenes  
> \- Jonathan keeps his distance


End file.
